


how long have i known you, brother

by forsitvenire



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, FC Bayern München, M/M, Transfer Window, mild swearing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forsitvenire/pseuds/forsitvenire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you get so caught up in your personal decision-making that you forget that your decisions often have impact on other people as well. </p><p>In other words, Philipp deals with Bastian's move to the BPL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how long have i known you, brother

**Author's Note:**

> First of all: this was written, like, three weeks ago? I've just managed to re-read it, edit and translate properly. So sorry about the shit-talking, I truly adore Bayern and yeah, despite that I used to complain about the staff decisions, but who doesn't? I grew up with Bastian as my childhood Bavarian Hero, that's why I was probably one the people that were against his move from the very beginning. But, well. Things change. I must admit, that I was kind of skeptic when it came to Costa and Vidal's transfers to Munich, too. But after the Audi Cup, well. I'm not going to question any of Guardiola's decisions, ever. Let the dude do what he wants, he's their coach after all. Took me a while, but I guess people just need to grow up to such deep conclusions. 
> 
> Un-beta'd, /might/ be a little OOC, but it's not that obvious if you squint. And that being said, enjoy.

The majority of the team had already left Säbener Straße. Obviously, there had been loud complaints (especially on Thomas’s side) and general confusion mixed with slight discontent (on everyone else’s side), considering that Bastian was the only one staying behind, but all of those had been quickly cut off by Guardiola. 

And so the players headed off towards the main building, talking quietly to one another and glancing over their shoulders from time to time at their impassive coach and Bastian himself, standing just a few steps behind him. 

Their confusion wasn’t out of place at all; it rarely happened that Pep remained on the pitch alone with just a single player, without explaining the rest what was going on. And they’d have probably gotten even more bewildered if somebody had told them, that Guardiola’s intent wasn’t to scold Bastian or anything, as they had probably expected.

* * *

Their coach waited patiently for the last Bavarian to disappear behind the building’s doors, unfolded his arms from his chest and sighed heavily.

Eventually, he turned to face Bastian, but it was hard to read his expression – something like a pale mix between disappointment and resignation. His eyes remained relatively indifferent, though.

“At this point this decision is no longer mine to make,” He said, dryly. “If that’s what you really want, then so be it.”

Bastian didn’t back off from the man’s stare; he quietly endured it, fingers curling around the ball held by his side. “I’ve already decided. If you’re looking for the final confirmation, than yes, that’s what I want.” 

He was standing with his back straight and his head held high, looking down at Guardiola with a slightly cold, but nevertheless composed gaze. He tried to make his voice sound neutral, but despite that, deep inside he was worried that his coach might sense the hesitation in his words. No. He hadn’t decided. And he wasn’t one hundred percent sure that his upcoming transfer to the British league would do him any good, either. But there was no turning back, now. All he had left was to just play the role he had been given with dignity. 

“What you asked me about a few days ago… It’s still valid, I suppose.” Guardiola stated, rather than asked. His face was getting more and more devoid of any emotion, until it started to resemble a pale mask of a plastic mannequin. 

“If it’s still possible.” replied Bastian, trying to mimic his way of speaking. The older man simply sighed, and eventually looked away in resignation. 

“Alright. I’ll leave the key by the bleachers, somewhere next to your bag, then,” Guardiola said after a couple of seconds of silence, his eyes moving across something on the other side of the pitch. “But do remember, that despite the… The thing, that didn’t allow you to make the decision sooner, it is your duty now to inform about your future all parties interested. Including your, well, former, team.” He paused to take a slow breath, then looked at Bastian again. “In case it might seem a little rushed, or that you didn’t think it through properly.” And as he finished, Bastian felt as if a couple of tiny, ice-cold needles pierced through his chest. 

He narrowed his eyes, focusing on not showing his (yet, another) moment of hesitation. 

“Yes, I am aware of that.” He replied, coolly. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

“I’ll make sure all your things are given to the responsible people,” Bastian could only stay, frozen, and watch as Guardiola crossed the distance between them in a series of quick, resolute steps; 

“Well, what more can I say, Bastian. It’s our last meeting as a player and their coach, I suppose.” He said, being just an arm length away from the Bavarian. “I wish you great success in your future career. It was a pleasure working with you, up until now. Thank you.” He finished, holding out his open palm. Bastian subconsciously reached forward and Guardiola shook his hand firmly. 

The contact lasted less than a second, and through all that time the Spaniard’s eyes were fixed on Bastian’s own, unyielding.

* * *

The sun was already setting, when he finally decided to get off the pitch. The exhausting swelter, that had been around all day since the early morning hours, was finally making place for the evening chill. 

As he was walking down the facility, everything was painted in warm, reddish and orange hues of the sunset, putting every building around him in a heavy half-shade. 

Breathing in the hot air came with a difficulty to him, and he felt the muscles in his legs shake more and more with every step he took. His face and hair was shining with sweat, and he felt like his drenched shirt had permanently stuck to his heated back. 

He knew well, that those were his last moments on Säbener as a Munich player. He was aware of his age, as well as of the upcoming consequences that came along with his decision and that he would never return here again as a footballer. 

Säbener Straße and Allianz had been his home for almost 17 years. That’s why he had asked Guardiola to let him stay on their main training field for a few hours after their last session at the end of the week. To somehow imprint everything that he held so dear about this place inside his brain. The placement of all flag posts. The heights of various nets and fences. The way the neatly cut grass moved and squeaked under his feet as he ran. Even the reflected sun rays, that he utterly despised, which seemed to only shine right into his face, no matter where he was standing on the field. 

He had spent almost two hours in almost constant movement, running around the pitch, deep in his thoughts, trying to calm himself down; just trying to absorb as much of his beloved surroundings as he possibly could. He felt many emotions flow through him, one after another, until the exhaustion overtook his body and soothed his mind, so that he managed to come to terms with his decision. 

Tomorrow he would pack his things, bid goodbye to his fellow (no longer, he thought bitterly) teammates, the personnel, doctors, other trainers… In the evening he’d catch a flight to England. On Sunday they’d probably ask him to do the medicals and he’d sign the documents they’d give him. And later in the afternoon the media would officially say, that from now on, the Bavarian Tiger would play wearing the Manchester red. 

Thinking about his upcoming move to the Premier League used to give him headaches. But now he only felt weird, but nevertheless soothing emptiness. 

Of course, there would be harsh criticism from the media, the fans, even from his former team or his friends; he hadn’t expected otherwise. But maybe he shouldn’t have stayed silent for such a long time – no news is good news, after all. It could’ve been misleading for some. Perhaps he should’ve informed some of the Bavarians. Perhaps. But it was too late for any changes, now. The only comforting thought was that no matter what, both Felix and Tobias would keep his side without judging him.

* * *

He walked away from the training grounds with his mind fresh and open, even though he probably hadn’t ever felt so physically drained in his life. 

He grabbed the hem of his drenched shirt and pulled it off over his head, folded it quickly, wiped his hair and face and then stuffed it carelessly behind the elastic band of his training shorts. He swiped his fingers through his wet hair, trying to fix them in any way – without any decent results, though. 

He could already see the massive plastic shelter with red, plastic seats underneath it, where players used to leave their clothes, water or other things before their trainings. That was the place where Pep had left the keys to the team’s, probably already closed for the weekend, dressing rooms. 

As he was getting closer to it, and walked more into the shade that the nearby storage building created, he suddenly noticed a blurred shadow of someone sitting inside the plastic shelter. The shelter’s walls were half-transparent, and with each and every step he took he could see the silhouette more clearly. 

The first person that came to his mind was Guardiola. Perhaps he had forgotten to tell Bastian something , or he wanted to give him the keys himself. Then he thought about Tobias – he had seen, after all, the second team playing at the other side of the facility. Bastian frowned and quickened his steps. 

He quickly crossed the remaining distance between him and the the plastic structure, walked around its rounded edge, and… His eyes immediately fixed on the person sitting nonchalantly on one of the plastic seats, right next to Bastian’s disheveled clothes and other belongings. 

That familiar, a little stocky figure, short, dark-brown hair and dark blue, clever eyes. Bastian stared right into Philipp’s face with wide open eyes. He swore mentally, suddenly remembering that in midst of planning his future outside Bundesliga he might have forgotten about one of the most important things. 

Philipp didn’t move at all. He was still sitting casually in his previous position; with his arms loosely folded on his chest and his legs straight, politely returning Bastian’s confused stare. The younger player eventually looked away after a while, feeling a weird coldness spreading inside of him, despite the overall warmth. He carefully walked around Philipp and sat down on one of the seats, leaving a preventive gap of a couple of those plastic seats between them.

* * *

Despite the sun hanging impossibly low above the horizon, it was still doing its best to heat up the air; even though the heat had become less persistent and tiring. Not as much invasive as it had been before; the hot afternoon slowly melting into the more pleasant, warm night. The sky was painted with orange, blue and purple colors – like a glass of water with a couple of drops of colorful ink in it, that mixed and swirled together. 

Everything around them was rather quiet; the silence being disturbed only by echoes of yelling, laughter and muffled sounds of the ball being kicked, coming from the field on the opposite side of the facility. 

And so they were sitting beside each other, without saying a word, just staring at the colorful figures running after the ball in the distance, behind a large wall of shimmering net. Minutes passed, one after another, but neither Philipp, nor Bastian seemed to not want to disturb the silence. 

Bastian wasn’t able to tell exactly how much time had passed; he knew, though, that Philipp’s goal wasn’t to just sit there and watch the younger team chase the ball. He was well aware of the upcoming unavoidable talk, and also of the fact, that he had no other option but to just sit and wait patiently, until Philipp decided to tell him what he had come here for. 

And just as he had suspected, after a couple (or maybe a few) minutes his captain seemed to finally had made up his mind. Bastian watched out of the corner of his eye, as the older player sighed heavily and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and running his hands through his short hair. There was a couple of seconds of silence again, before Philipp eventually spoke:

“So, England it is, then?”

His voice sounded relatively neutral, but still Bastian heard that barely-audible tone of resignation in it, which made his throat and chest clench rather painfully. Once again he swore at himself mentally, for not consulting his transfer with the rest of the team, before the decision had been made. And especially, that he hadn’t talked with Philipp earlier. 

“Yeah, I think so,” He replied carefully, forcing a smile. He was aware, how fake that must have looked, but he wasn’t able to manage anything better. “I guess it just… happened.” 

Philipp threw him his typical, composed, weirdly teacher-like look, and then again, looked away towards the pitch opposite them. Bastian suddenly felt as if he were back in his primary school. Both of them had barely said anything, and he already felt like his captain had looked right through him and managed to judge him completely. He suddenly felt an irresistible urge to explain himself, even though no one had accused him of anything yet. 

“I didn’t want to tell anyone yet, in case it might have not worked out the way I wanted it to.” He said quickly, maybe too quickly, as Philipp suddenly turned his head to look at him with his eyebrows raised high. 

“I didn’t told to you explain yourself, did I.” The older player said quietly, keeping his unswerving composure. 

Bastian shot him a slightly embarrassed look. He should’ve known, that any confrontation with his captain was already lost on his side, before it even started. There was probably no one out there, that knew him the way Philipp did, understood him entirely and was able to notice things about him, that Bastian didn’t even realize himself. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just… A lot has been happening lately.” Bastian took a deep breath and pulled his slightly-drier shirt over his head again, to somehow hide from his captain’s questioning gaze. 

Philipp pushed himself upwards from his knees, leaned backwards onto the plastic backrest and put his hands behind his head. 

“It’s okay. I just came to say goodbye, that’s all,” He said simply. “You didn’t seem to be the one to do it first, so I figured I’d come and do it on my own accord.”

And once again, Bastian painfully felt the consequences of his delayed decision making. Philipp looked at him, frowning, before continuing: “To be honest, I was a bit surprised,” He paused, sighed heavily, then looked away. “I guess everything has to change, sooner or later.”

Bastian winced, as a sudden feeling of irritation flowed through him. “Philipp, no offence, but I have the right to…” 

“None taken. I’m not offended, at all.” Philipp cut him off, still with the same quiet, composed tone. But now there was something in it, that made Bastian immediately shut up. “Bastian, of course you have the right to do anything you want. Especially when it comes to your career. You’re thirty years old, for god’s sake.” His voice broke audibly and Bastian almost jumped on his seat. 

He looked up, taken aback. He had never, in his whole life, seen Philipp lose his temper in such way. And what hurt him the most was the knowledge, that it was him who made the older player act that way. 

“How long have you been a Munich player? There are no stupid people in here, and you know it. Everyone knew that you haven’t extended your contract.” Philipp looked at him with accusation, and Bastian saw in his eyes how let down he must have felt. “You could’ve said something. Just start a casual conversation, with anyone. Instead of… I don’t know, _stalking_ with it, for such a long time. When did you intend to tell the rest? Thomas, Manuel? Holger?” With each and every word Philipp spoke, Bastian felt irritation boiling within him alongside with a sour burn of embarrassment. Philipp was right. Just like always. He was right, and Bastian just couldn’t accept it. He was afraid to accept it, to face its consequences; in the end, the Bavarian Tiger turned out to be nothing but a plain coward. 

“And what about your captain? I found out about it by some goddamn accident. A gossip, that I simply wouldn’t, couldn’t believe. Bastian? Moving to England? Impossible. He was born, raised and he’ll spend his last days in Bavaria. _I’ve known him for fifteen goddamn years!_ “ Philipp cut off abruptly. 

During his talk he leaned forward, almost standing up. He was breathing quickly, shallowly, and Bastian could clearly see the feeling of betrayal written all over his face. 

“Well, I’m very sorry about that. Looks like there are, after all, people not willing to spend their whole lives playing for the same goddamn club, even though it gives them nothing in return for their efforts.” He snapped, instinctively responding with aggression to the harsh, but nevertheless true words. 

He regretted his reaction immediately after, though, seeing how personally Philipp took his words. He realized, that he had just summarized the older player’s whole life. His whole career could be brought down to two things – Bayern and his national team. He had been their captain for so many years, doing his best, being one of the most crucial players on the field most of the time. And despite that, he was often neglected, and he had never said anything against it. He was loyal. Devoted. He just played for his club. 

Bastian saw how what he had just said touched Philipp, and that sight caused HIM the same, maybe even worse pain mixed with bitterness and embarrassment. But then, Philip suddenly took a deep breath and fell backwards heavily, onto the backrest. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his shorts and looked away. Bastian was sitting in silence, too overwhelmed by the whole situation to react properly. 

“Shit. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Philipp said, his voice so quiet Bastian almost didn’t hear him. He closed his eyes in resignation. “It’s just… This could’ve happen in so many other ways. It’s one thing suspecting something due to ever-present gossiping, but it’s a completely different thing when someone finally confirms it themselves.” 

“I didn’t know it was such a big deal. I mean, for you.” Bastian replied, trying to match the volume of Philipp’s voice. Philipp threw him a bitter look.

“Bayern is struggling. Don’t you see what’s going on in here? We’re being made into some sort of a Bayern Espanyol.” He said, his expression half-grimace and half-smile. “You’re one of the very few, that had managed to keep it all together for such a long time. I won’t be able to play for long. Same thing with both Franck and Arjen. Thomas is barely holding it, not sure how much longer he’ll be able to deal with his current situation here. And who else do you left? Manu? Sebastian? They’re great, they really are, but they won’t do much alone.” He sighed heavily. “It’s just… I’ve known you for such a long time. We’ve played so many games together. I understand your decision and I won’t even try to drag you away from it.” He ran his hands across his face. “The thing is, your sudden departure might seem a bit out of place, for some people,” He looked up at Bastian, and his eyes were calm again. “And believe me, I’m the last person that would possibly want that for you.” 

Bastian stared at him, confused. Of course, he had already thought about everything what Philipp had just said, but it struck him twice as hard, hearing it from someone who was rather close to him. And to hear it in such way.

“I’m sorry. It’s just, everything has been…” He began.

“Doesn’t matter.” Philipp cut him off, almost immediately. “I probably should apologize too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you in such way. But I see all the things that are happening around the club right now, and it’s just so frustrating to not be able to do anything with it.” He sighed heavily, once again. He leaned onto his own knees and stood up. “Seriously, forget it.” 

He brushed off his shorts with his hands, quickly walked up to where Bastian was sitting and reached out his hand towards him. “Come on, get up. We can’t stay here ‘till the nightfall. Besides, it’ll get cold soon. You’re probably still drenched from the training; you’ll catch a cold and there goes your medical in Manchester.” He forced himself to smile lightly. Bastian returned his smile and grasped Philip’s hand. The older player tugged him forward, helping him to stand up. 

“Forgive me, really…”

“Bastian.” Philipp threw him a warning glance. “Even if this was about money, it doesn’t matter. If someone deserves it, it’s you. I get it. And to be honest, I’m not the only one. No one’s going to blame you for it. Just come say goodbye to everyone tomorrow, this time properly.” He squeezed kindly Bastian’s hand and then let go of it, and the younger player had just realized that his captain was holding it for the whole time. 

“Thanks. I feel horrible that everything turned out this way, I didn’t mean it. Especially when it comes to you.” He said, embarrassed.

Philipp shook his head. “And that’s the end of it. Pack your things and go take a shower. No offence, but you’re impossibly sticky.” He replied with a small smile on his lips, making a point of wiping his hand on his shorts. 

Bastian decided to not answer to that, instead he obediently walked around the older player and went on to get his things. 

He pulled a half-empty bottle of water from under his clothes, threw his disheveled sweatshirt, his current training one and his towel carelessly into the bag and zipped it half-way up. He threw its strap across his shoulder and was about to turn and walk away in the general direction of the dressing rooms, but then he heard Philipp say his name again. 

“Bastian?” The older one called. Bastian turned around almost immediately, looking at his captain with a puzzled expression. 

Philipp was standing right behind him, his head tilted slightly upwards, to be able to look directly into the taller player’s face. Bastian looked down, kindly reciprocating his gaze. He waited, a little baffled, for what Philipp had yet to tell him. Philipp watched him in his own, specific way, like he wanted to do something. He slowly raised his right hand, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. But then, after a while of visible hesitation, he decided to put his raised hand on Bastian’s shoulder and pat lightly his back.

He took a step back, until he was an arm-length away from the younger player. 

“Take care of yourself there.” He said simply, avoiding Bastian’s eyes. “Continue working hard, learning new things, just the way you want. Win trophies. May this bring only the best for you, I really wish you that.” 

“Thank you. It really means a lot.” Bastian replied politely. Somehow he felt a little disappointed, but he couldn’t really tell what made him feel that way. 

Philipp looked up at him again, and his eyes shone with amusement. 

“Bayern will always have your side, but remember: next time we’ll meet, no one is going to have any remorse to kick your ass.” He said, smiling lightly. “There’s only one proper red that you can wear in the world of football.”

Bastian grinned widely. He dropped his bag from his shoulder and in the next second he was leaning forward, putting his arms around the shorter player and enveloping him in a tight bear-hug, almost picking him up from the ground. Philipp started smacking him across his head and shoulders, trying to force Bastian to let him go.

“Bastian!!” He yelled at him, trying to hide is amusement (at which he, sadly, failed). “Ugh, man, I’ve told you something! You smell, go wash yourself properly, I’ve just changed my clothes!!” 

“Fips, I adore you.” Bastian said, putting him down gently, still grinning. “I’m going to miss you all so much, you know?”

“I’m sure, that the whole of Munich will miss you too.” Replied Philipp, trying to somehow straighten his shirts and his shorts. He looked up. “I’m going to miss you to. A little bit.”

They stood in silence, just simply staring at each other. Eventually Philipp looked away, sighing. “Alright, but seriously. Go and take a shower.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're into that ship (and I guess you are, since you're here, lmao), please do yourself a favour and check out these two songs: [1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8sYyTpD9RJQ), [2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DyyPSUA0WKo) and pay close attention to the lyrics.
> 
> "I used to believe that all the absence of color would make a difference to my red, red heart. But my perspective has changed since I drove you away, bu everybody's gotta move sometimes; And I won't see it even if I know it's there; never let you go, even when the madness has broken you apart.
> 
> "How long have I known you, brother? Hundreds of lives, thousands of years; How many miles have we wandered under the sky, chasing our fears? Some kind of trouble is coming, don't know when, don't know what; I will stand by you, brother, 'til the daylight comes or I'm dead and gone. I've shared my life with you, brother, since I recall, you've been my friend; You say we're not like the others, still we must die, all things must end. I know we can't stop what's coming, but I will try, oh how I'll try; Will you fight with me, brother, one last time, one last fight?
> 
> :(


End file.
